Steps of the Dance
by Lily of Trust
Summary: A look into Caldina's past: The mysterious Charmer has confessed to being Chizetan, and to traveling, but what about her family, childhood, and magic? Her tale will span all four worlds, and many trials, before finally coming 'home' to Cephiro
1. Late Night Tales

Steps of the Dance

Chapter 1

By

Lily of Trust

Lafarga turned over onto his side, shifting in his sleep as he dreamt peacefully. One arm reached to the other side of the bed, searching for someone who no longer lay there...

Alerted by the absence of the warm body which usually nestled closely in against his side, the swordsman's cold blue eyes snapped open. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked around the room he shared with the love of his every waking moment, but Caldina was nowhere to be seen.

There couldn't have been anything seriously wrong, he told himself firmly. His instincts would surely have warned him if someone had abducted his lady, or if there was another threat to be dealt with. But in this land of New Cephiro, there were no monsters; they had all been pacified by the purity and peace of the hearts of three young women from another world. Besides, Caldina's robe and slippers were missing from their usual spots.

Unable to discern why Caldina, who was usually such a sound sleeper (especially after their...activities), was up and about at such an ungodly hour, Lafarga sat and pushed back the sheets. Something was amiss. His every nerve told him so, and his instincts were never, ever wrong. So he reached for his trousers and pulled them on as silently as only a trained warrior could. A few moments later, he was padding soundlessly down the marble hallways of the new Palace, in search of a certain pink haired Charmer.

There was no visible sign of her passing anywhere, but then, the Palace was quite a large structure. It could take him days to search it top to bottom, which would be more or less pointless. Though if he thought his love was in any actual danger, he would have done so without a second thought. But the longer he searched, the surer he became that something was wrong. An anxious feeling began to roil around in the pit of his stomach as he fought with an overactive imagination few suspected he possessed. 

Lafarga's feet led him towards the kitchens on the lower levels. There was always someone awake in there, either hunting out a midnight snack, dropping by for a meal between the changing of the guard shifts, or up early cooking breakfast for the countless inhabitants of the Palace. At the moment, a lone light threw a faint glow out the doorway, and a shadow moved beyond. It occurred to him that perhaps whoever was at work in there might have seen Caldina.

The Dal came around the doorframe and was suddenly overwhelmed with conflicting emotions of relief and annoyance. Hovering over the stove, heating a kettle of water and measuring out tealeaves from a pottery container was the object of his search. Caldina didn't even turn to acknowledge his presence, which wasn't actually her fault, since he'd been walking so silently she obviously hadn't heard him approach.

Lafarga studied her for a moment. Her rose-colored tresses swept midway down her back; she always slept with her hair down, and he never tired of running his hands through it. He noticed suddenly that she seemed oddly pale beneath her tan, and her hands were shaking so badly that some of the powdered leaves spilt over the spoon onto the counter.

"Caldina?" He asked, his voice tinged with concern. The Charmer yelped in surprise, jumping a foot into the air and sending both spoon and tealeaves flying. The kettle of steaming water was upset, and splashed down the front of her nightshirt. Cursing himself as ten kinds of an idiot for frightening her, Lafarga stepped forward and hastily pulled her back from the scalding water. She went stiff in his arms, before turning her face into his neck and going practically limp. Her shoulders shook almost uncontrollably, and he realized with a jolt that she was hyperventilating.

"Caldina, is something wrong?" Lafarga asked anxiously, holding her out at arm's length to study her face. He hadn't noticed before, but shining twin tracks marked the path tears had taken down her cheeks. She dashed them away with the sleeve of her nightgown, and smiled bravely up at him, though her lower lip quivered slightly.

"Of course not, sugah." She cleared her throat when her voice shook and tried again. "You just startled the livin' b'jezus outta me, that's all."

He didn't believe her for a second, and that must have shown in his face. He gave her a severe look and pulled her over to one of the many tables that were usually used to set out food for the servants to carry into the dining area. Lafarga pushed her gently down into a seat and silently turned to mop up the mess and set another kettle on, somehow sensing that she needed the tea to calm herself.

"Are you going to tell me what has disturbed you, or are you going to be difficult, as always?" He asked in usual direct manner. Though his back was turned, he heard Caldina stiffen up in the chair. As he turned back to face her, he fully expected to see the firey attitude he was so familiar with glaring at him from those sapphire eyes, but instead, she was slumped over in her seat, her hair shielding her face from his gaze. 

Lafarga instantly suspected he had pushed the wrong button. He stepped forward and brushed the errant strands away from her cheek, tucking them behind the shell of her ear. "Caldina...what troubles you so?" He inquired quietly.

The Charmer kept her eyes on her lap, her hands clenching and unclenching into white knuckled fists. She loved Lafarga with everything she was, but there were some things she couldn't bear to bring herself to speak of with him. If only because she knew he'd never look at her the same if he was aware of the things she had done in her past. Things even worse than the acts she had committed under Zagato's command.

"You can tell me anything." He assured her, unconsciously echoing her thoughts. Caldina flinched as though someone had struck her. At the same time, she wanted to smack herself for behaving so out of character. The brash, talkative persona she displayed for the world to see was her true self, but there were times when her weaker side pushed past that barrier. She hated that.

"I just had a bad dream, tha's all." She told him, smiling genuinely as his hands closed over her smaller ones. "I felt like a cuppa tea might help me get back ta sleep."

"You're lying." Lafarga snorted. "Or at least, that's not the entire truth."

Caldina cursed his instincts. She could never manage to pull a fast one on the tall blonde man, no matter how hard she tried. He saw through her every falsehood with that hawk-eyed gaze, though his eyes were always gentle for her.

"Tell me." He implored her, seating himself in one of the other chairs while the water came to a boil. 

"I...can't...." Those two words were perhaps the hardest she had ever forced past her lips. She knew she wouldn't be able to live with the...the disgust in those eyes if she explained.

"Yes, you can." Lafarga smiled one of his rare smiles, pushing her bangs from her eyes with a touch that was more of a caress. 

"I have...nightmares, sometimes." Caldina said haltingly. "B'fore I came here, ta Cephiro...I was a different person. And sometimes, the things I did then come back ta give me a lil' hell."

"Then you should talk about them." Lafarga stated simply. "It always helps to talk. We have all night, and no one will disturb us here." He noted the hesitation in her eyes, and cried inwardly at the weakness his normally strong Caldina found herself plagued with. "And whatever you should confide in me, I will understand. I love who you are now, and what happened to make you this way does not change that."

Those might have been exactly the words the Charmer needed to hear. Caldina sat up a little straighter, the usual starch back in her spine, and a glimmering of the familiar light in her eyes. Maybe she had been wrong to doubt him. Maybe...maybe if she told him her tale, and got it off her shoulders after all these many years...

"Well I might bore ya, you know." She warned him teasingly. "Jest so ya can't say I didn't warn ya."

Lafarga smiled and made himself comfortable in his chair as words Caldina had been fighting back for year upon year were finally spoken.

~

In the merchant's quarters of the Chizetan Capitol City, business and life were bursting from every seam. The streets were packed with people looking to make a sale, or buy a bargain. Children clad in tattered, but bright, tunics shrieked and giggled as they dodged between the legs of the crowd, playing games known only to themselves. Pickpockets and cutpurses were in evidence as well; they moved along with the flow of traffic, lifting wallets and occasionally stealing jewelry. Business as usual.

But in a small shop which offered hand-carved and crafted clocks, the drama of life and death was playing itself out once again, as a new life was brought into the world, and another hung in the balance.

The birthing was not going well. There was blood everywhere, staining the sheets, tinting the basin of water to a pinkish color, and slicking down the hands of the midwife. That matronly middle aged woman regarded the proceedings with deep concern. The young woman laboring in the bed was ill suited to bearing children. She was a tiny, slender thing, with almost perilously narrow hips. Another contraction wracked the small frame, and the mother-to-be screamed hoarsely and gripped at the sheets with fingers gone white. The midwife murmured encouraging words low under her breath. She could see the infant's head; the agonizing process was nearly complete. 

Outside of the chamber, a tall, thin man paced restlessly. His wife's every scream twisted his insides like a barbed knife. They had both longed for a child, and after four years of marriage, they were near to giving up hope. This pregnancy was nothing short of a miracle, but it seemed it might cost his beloved far too high a price.

A long, lingering wail rose on the air. The man, one Feshahd Merchantman stopped in his tracks. His heart froze within his chest as dead silence fell. Then, the thin cry of a baby drawing its first breath reached his ears. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Feshahd pushed past the door into the birthing room. 

The midwife hardly bothered to cast him a glance as she was occupied with cleaning the child. She helped the mother sit up and gently deposited the infant into the arms of the exhausted woman.

"Jezedra..." Feshahd said quietly, almost reverently. He took a few hesitant steps forward, perching himself on the edge of the narrow bed. His wife looked up and smiled that smile she had only for him. Her hair, the same dusky pink as the sky after a particularly lovely sunset, was in wild disarray. Her blue eyes seemed somehow washed out, their normally brilliant color leeched away.

"Come and see your daughter, Feshahd." Jezedra beckoned, her voice hoarse and raw from screaming. He reached out a shaking hand to touch the tiny head peeking from the swaddling. A short frizz of pale rose hair, like the fuzz on a peach, capped the little girl's head. Her eyes opened and met her father's brown ones. Feshahd smiled suddenly, utterly entranced by the diminutive creature.

"What shall we call her?" He asked his wife.

Jezedra's lips stretched into a tired smile, as it if took all her strength to do so.

"Caldina. My sister's name, before she was lost to me."

"Caldina..." Feshahd tested the name on his tongue, and found it fitting. He lifted his daughter into his arms and gazed down into those bright blue eyes. "Yes, I think that's a fine name."

Jezedra made a soft sound of agreement before leaning back into her pillows. Her head lolled onto her shoulder as her eyes closed. It looked for all the world that she was simply taking a rest after the exertions of the birth. But there was something unnatural about her stillness, the way her hand lay limply in her husband's lap.

The midwife sighed sadly to herself, and stepped forward. Feshahd stared blankly at his wife's body, completely uncomprehending. Jezedra had lost far too much blood during labor to have had any chance of surviving. A delicate desert rose like herself could not stand such a massive loss and live long enough for her body to compensate. Very carefully, the woman who had first held the infant girl drew the sheet up to cover the dead mother's face. 

Caldina's very first discovery in this new world of Chizeta was that her father's tears tasted of salt water.


	2. Beginnings and Discoveries

Thanks everybody who reviewed ^_^ I guess you talked me into seeing where I can take this. *chuckles* I beg one small indulgence on your part...I decided I'd rather Caldina's family sell clocks instead of bolts of cloth. Why? Er...there's an analogy in this chapter that I liked too much, and I couldn't do it without the clock thing. So please put up with me. 

Arigato all!

-Lily

Steps of the Dance

Chapter 2

Not two days after the death of Jezedra, and scarcely twelve hours after she had been buried in the family plot, there came a knocking upon the door of Feshahd's clock shop. The new father set his fussy infant daughter down in her bassinet in the tiny apartment behind the store itself and hurried to the door. Officially, all business was closed for a while, until Feshahd got the hang of his daughter's rather erratic sleeping habits. The midwife had given him a special formula for the child, since she would be...unable to partake of her mother's milk. He tried not to think about that, knowing that if he were to indulge himself in grief, he would surely be trapped within a downward spiral of pain and anguish. He had too much to live for now, and Jezedra would never thank him if he neglected Caldina simply to mourn her. There would be time later; for now, not a night passed that he did not cry himself to sleep.

Feshahd fumbled with the key-ring for a moment before locating the tiny brass key. He inserted it into the lock and turned, pulling the door open to reveal a figure long unseen.

"A-Ashul!" He stammered, shocked to see his elder brother home again after faring off to the unknown land of Fahren. His sibling looked much like him, actually. They were both tall, and relatively slim, though Ashul was slightly broader of shoulder and waist, and much more muscular than his craftsman brother. They stood the same height, wore their dark brown hair in similar tussled styles, and possessed large brown eyes. But where Feshahd exuded an air of patience and gentle understanding, Ashul seemed more violent somehow, his eyes like chips of muddy ice.

"Brother." Ashul's smile somehow didn't quite reach past his lips. His voice reflected none of its seeming warmth. "I heard of your loss, all the way in distant Fahren. My most sincere sympathies."

"M-my thanks, elder brother." Feshahd stammered, unable to understand why he had a sudden urge to hide the baby. He and Ashul had never been particularly close. There had been rumors that the oldest sibling had coveted the wife of the younger. It was true that both men had courted Jezedra, though the beauty had always been Feshahd's, from the very beginning.

"I heard that Jezedra died in childbirth." Ashul continued, somehow utterly oblivious to the blatant pain warring on his younger brother's features. "Such a pity. She was always rather delicate though, I suppose." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Did the child survive, perchance?"

"Y-yes, she did." Feshahd mentally smacked himself for stuttering like an idiot. "Jezedra desired that she be named Caldina. It was her last wish."

"Caldina..." Ashul mulled that over for a moment, his swarthy face twisted in thought. "That was her sister's name, was it not? That brat that died from that fever when we were all children?"

Feshahd nodded, no longer trusting his voice to bear him. His family and Jezedra's had long been business associates, and the children of both had been close friends during their younger years. Before they had struck adolescence, a particularly virulent strain of typhoid fever had struck the Capitol City of Chizeta. The death toll had risen into the hundred thousands before a vaccine had been invented. Seventy percent of the casualties had been the elderly, the infirm, or children. The original Caldina had been one such loss. Jezedra had always been close to her sister, and mourned her death for months afterwards, scarcely coming from her room except to relieve herself.

"Might I see my niece, or would that be too much to ask?" There was a faintly sardonic tone in Ashul's voice now, as though he was mocking his brother somehow.

"Surely." Feshahd nodded and turned his back on Ashul, pocketing his keys as he went. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered that perhaps he ought to check his inventory after his unwelcome guest had left. After all, his elder brother had always had rather sticky fingers.

Caldina was fussing again. She waved her tiny fists in the air as though angered by her tiny body's limited mobility. Her blue eyes moved constantly, inspecting the embroidery on her baby blanket, flicking over the tiled ceiling and widening as her father's footsteps came closer. They went bright as sapphires as he leaned over the bassinet and scooped her up into his arms. Caldina giggled and waved her arms and legs around even harder, trying somehow to show the excitement her as yet unformed mind was feeling. Feshahd bounced her gently, smiling as she made a tiny squealing sound in delight. 

Ashul leaned over the infant in his brother's arms, realizing how very much like her mother she looked, even now. Her hair had dried to form tiny ringlets of pale pink, which stood out against the dusky skin with almost shocking contrast. Her almond shaped eyes sparkled the bright blue of the sea on a clear day. He reached out a finger for her to clasp, and she wrapped her tiny hand around it with surprising strength for a child barely two days old. It seemed she had managed to avoid inheriting her mother's delicacy, at least.

"A beautiful child," He said at last, after reclaiming possession of his finger. "How, pray tell, do you intend to take care of her and run your business as well?"

"I'll manage," Feshahd said somewhat defensively, cradling his daughter closer to his chest. "I'm sure I can find someone willing to watch her for what little I can pay."

"I could always bring her with me to Fahren," Ashul offered. "After all, that is a land of plenty, where she can grow up with room to run, instead of on these shabby streets. So many accidents seem to befall children these days...crushed beneath the wheels of a wagon, catch their death from some rat borne plague or another, or even recruited by some of those _shrial_ dealers. Nobody sells drugs so well as an innocent."

"Why do I not believe that you have her best interests at heart?" Feshahd asked, his voice harsh now. Caldina stirred in his arms, picking up on the bad vibes between the brothers. "Thank you, but _no_ thank you. We will manage quite well on our own, my daughter and I."

"Suit yourself brother." Ashul shrugged and left the apartment, heading back for the shop. "Suit yourself. I have business here for a few days, then I shall return to Fahren. I suggest you think over my offer, at least. One never knows where Lady Death will strike next, after all."

With that veiled barb, he shut the door of the clock shop behind him, causing the little bells above the door to tinkle with discordant music. Feshahd clutched his daughter close, glaring darkly past the portal. Something very odd had just happened, and he hadn't the slightest clue what it could have been. Caldina whimpered faintly, chubby fingers curling against her father's shirt. He looked down at the infant and forced a reassuring smile. Whatever should happen, his brother would have no claims on the girl. Something warned him against it, and he was never one to ignore a hunch.

~

Named for an aunt she would never see, by a mother she would never know, the girl Caldina Feshahdsdaughter lived out her early years in the streets of the lower middle class merchants quarters. She was a bright, lively child, with an intense enthusiasm for any new activity. She made friends easily with all the other children in her neighborhood, and never seemed any lesser than they for having only one parent. She spent her days playing with the brood of the washerwoman who lived on the corner of her street, under the watchful eye of said matron. Besides herself, there were three other youngsters. Fashiri, who, at a stocky seven years old, was the eldest of the foursome dictated the games they played, and what trouble they got into. His twin sister, Delia, was ying to his yang, a thoughtful, quiet soul, even at such a young age. They were both dark haired and green eyed, and looked little like their younger sibling, Siratan. The five year old boy bore sandy hair and blue eyes that spoke of his mother's dalliance with a foreigner...perhaps a traveler from Autozam.

While left to themselves, the four of them generally stayed clear of any large messes. Though for a short while the laundry sent to the twins' mother went home dyed eye-watering colors. No one ever actually came out and blamed the children, who had long ago perfected the art of appearing innocent, but there were some suspicions.

To be perfectly truthful, Caldina preferred to spend her free time with her father in his workshop. In her eyes, he was the most wonderful father in all of Chizeta, as well as the most talented clockmaker ever. She never tired of sitting for hours on end, watching as he tinkered with his creations. His long, slender fingers (which she seemed to have inherited) worked with endless patience at the gears and mechanisms that caused the timepieces to tick.

"Life is a lot like the workings of a clock, Caldina," He was fond of saying, "Each little gear you see effects every other gear, even if they only touch each other for a fraction of a moment. That contact sets off a chain reaction that makes everything work together as a whole. In life, the people you meet will shape who you become, and the way you see your world. No matter if you only chance upon a person for an instant, they can still change your entire outlook."

The whole theory was a little too profound for a four year old to grasp, but she'd nod and smile anyway, because her father was always right. He taught her what he knew of math, science, and philosophy, and saw to it that she learned to read and write. Someday the shop would fall to her, and she would need to know how to upkeep the accounts. She was his life, his soul, and so much like her mother in spirit that it sometimes hurt. But Feshahd refused to let his wife's sacrifice be for nothing; he wanted to be a good father, and tried to raise Caldina as he and Jezedra had always dreamt of rearing a child.

For now, she was the darling of the shop. Customers came calling, and never failed to leave without patting the beaming cherub on the head. Even at four, with her face and limbs still rounded by baby fat, there were glimmerings of an almost unearthly beauty about the girl.

"You'd better watch this one, Feshahd," One patron often joked, "If you don't keep her under close wraps, you'll end up beating suitors off with a stick!"

"Nuh uh!" Caldina would retort indignantly. "I'm my Daddy's girl!" To which both men would laugh, and Feshahd would package up the customer's purchases and shoo the man out of the shop, warning him to keep his son well away.

It was well after closing hours, during the slightly chilly fall months, when it became apparent that Caldina was anything but a normal child. She had perched herself upon the counter and was thumping her heels against the glass showcase, listening to the tinkling noises of the bells sewn onto her slippers as they jingled. She tapped out an impromptu rhythm, her finger drumming to the beat she created, her head nodding in time as she hummed a nameless tune under her breath. 

"That's very good, Dina love." Feshahd chuckled as he came out of his workshop with a completed timepiece. "You're talented."

"Fashiri and Delia like ta dance ta my music." Caldina said brightly, increasing the tempo. "I had to _help_ Siratan dance doh, 'cuz he kept tripping ovah 'is own two feets."

"Help him?" The craftsman raised an eyebrow as he carefully set the clock down atop a shelf. The emphasis she'd put on the word hadn't escaped his notice. "What do you mean?" Preoccupied with his daughter, he didn't seem to notice that the shelf was slightly overbalanced. One end began to tip precariously towards the ground, threatening to spill weeks of hard labor into a mess of cogs and gears.

"Like _this!_" Caldina exclaimed, jumping off the counter in a jangle of bells. She flung one hand up and pointed almost imperiously towards the sliding shelf, tapping out a fast pace with her left foot all the while. Something that shimmered just on the edge of human sight seemed to hang in the air, exploding from her hands and coming up to freeze the tumbling clocks where they fell.

Feshahd stared at his daughter in shock. Noone in either his family or Jezedra's had _ever_ show any inclinations towards Mage power. But here was his Caldina, stopping gravity in its tracks.

"Daaaddyyyy!" She whined. "It's haard! Fix it or they'll fall!"

Slapped out of his stunned state by her warning, he hurriedly righted the shelf and carefully situated the clocks once more, being careful to watch the balance. It seemed that while she could affect them, he was free to maneuver without interfering with her spell. Feshahd turned back to his daughter, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression.

"It's hard ta do 'dat wit sumthin' dat's not alive," Caldina said gravely. "But you spend so much care wit your clocks, dey're almost alive anyway!"

Feshahd knelt and hooked his hands under her arms, lifting her into the air and setting her back on the countertop. All the while he had yet to speak a word.

"Daddy?" She ventured finally. "Are you mad at me? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"N-no, no Caldina, love, you didn't do anything wrong." He assured her hastily. "I'm just surprised. Where did you learn that?!"

"Mommy taught me." She answered him, smiling.

Feshahd paled, looking as though someone had taken a sucker punch at his gut. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, lungs laboring to breath past the sudden vice like grip around his chest.

"Your mother?"

Caldina nodded, her smile wistful now. "I see her in my dreams, sumtimes. She's so beautiful, Daddy. She always looks so sad...I think she misses you," Not noticing the sudden bright shine of moisture in her father's eyes, she went right on ahead, "She told me dat I was special, and I could do things...dif'rent things. She says I'm im-por-tant, and one day I'll do really im-por-tant stuff." Caldina looked up and found that tears were running unheeded down Feshahd's cheeks. She reached up and wiped them away with one tiny hand, suddenly reminded of earlier tears, some far away memory she struggled to place, and could not.

"She _does _miss you." The girl said softly. "An' she loves us both very much. She's an angel now, you know."

"Your mother was always an angel." He replied just as quietly, drawing her into a tight hug. Whatever this talent was, and wherever she had acquired the instruction to wield it so proficiently, it opened up whole new worlds for Caldina. Mages were few and far between, and generally became much more influential than any common citizen could dream of being, no matter how lowly the Mage had been at birth. 

Eventually, the sounds of the pot bubbling over in the kitchen came to them, and Feshahd realized that the dinner he'd left on the stove was more than likely getting a little overdone. He lifted Caldina back down to the ground and took her hand, leading her back into the apartment. It didn't matter what abilities she had, for now, she was just a child. He had several friends with contacts in the Mage circle, and perhaps he could arrange for one of them to assess his daughter's abilities. There was a word for one who had the ability to manipulate living objects, and even those that bordered on sentience...he just couldn't remember what it was at that moment.

_It doesn't matter_, He thought to himself as Caldina set out their plates and went up onto tip toes to reach the drawers containing eating utensils. _We have all the time in the world_.

~

Somewhere in the lower levels of the city's slums, a rat scurried through the intricate web of interconnecting pipes and plumbing that made up the sewer system. Its breathing was raspy, and open sores seeped clear, viscous fluid into the trickle of water beneath its paws. Every step became a little more faltering as the grimy little creature struggled to draw breath into its diseased lungs. The rodent collapsed to its stomach, sides heaving with increasingly shallower pants. With a resigned squeak, it gave up its tenuous hold on life, and slumped into the unnatural stillness of death, rotting away in the sewers.

And the most deadly plague in Chizetan history began its journey through the waterways.


	3. The Black Plague Has Nothing on This One

****

Steps of the Dance

Chapter 3

Winter was in full swing when the full impact of the plague became apparent. It wasn't unusual to find people in the beggar's quarter dead on the street due to chill conditions or malnutrition, but the toll this year seemed abnormally high. Law enforcement lackeys hauled the bodies away in carts, not noticing the weeping boils on the skin of the dead, or the way the irises of the sightless eyes had been drained of any color. 

Later, those same workers were found dead in their homes, identical symptoms visible on their bodies. It was about that time that the physicians who worked in the City's morgue took a closer look at the corpses. Chizeta might be a small little world, but it had some of the finest doctors to be found, several of whom were magically gifted. They went to work on the bodies, determining the cause of death to be some kind of disease transmitted through touch, inhalation, or ingestion. In short, something that could be passed along through simple contact, or just breathing the same air as an afflicted person. Several of the physicians on staff sickened shortly after the preliminary examinations. The symptoms included sudden high fevers, followed by hemorrhaging in the lungs, and finally a rash of sores that broke and oozed a clear, vile smelling fluid of some kind. Such an illness had never been recorded, and therefore had no known cure. Most of those doctors died horribly within twenty-four hours. Some of them recovered shortly after the fever. What separated those who lived from those who died was anybody's guess.

The doctors' hysterical reports were sent to the officials of the King and Queen, and the beggar's quarters were set off into a quarantined area. Anyone within the barricade had more or less been doomed to die. But the measures taken were too little, too late.

Adjacent to the diseased part of the city were the districts inhabited by the lower merchant class. The water supply the people living there had access to traveled through the beggar's quarters, and it seemed the plague had taken to traveling in the plumbing system as well.

The first Caldina knew of the outbreak was the death of her nanny, Mrs. Olhedrin. The washerwoman, but nature of her trade, was in constant physical contact with water, and the plague only had to be touched to affect a person. The middle aged woman's temperature spiked one night after Feshahd came to pick Caldina up for the day. When last the two saw her, she was in perfect health, joking and scooping her children out of harm's way by sheer instinct as they played around her legs. The following morning, Caldina arrived at her friend's home to find it deadly quiet.

"Feshiri?" She called into the dark hallway. "...Delia?" There came no answer. Feeling prickles along the back of her spine, Caldina pushed the door open and stepped into the tiny, three room home. Her normally soft footsteps were eerily loud on the dead silence. She peeked into the little kitchen, but found it to be empty of everyone, which was odd. This early, breakfast should be on the table. Something was definitely amiss. 

Growing more apprehensive by the moment, the girl turned back into the hall. A sudden racking cough ripped the air, causing Caldina to yelp and jump in surprise. She ran down the short passageway into the single room that served as a sleeping chamber for the entire family. She burst into the bedroom and froze in the door way.

Mrs. Olhedrin was curled into a ball on her sleeping pallet, her whole body shaking and jerking as though she was caught in the grips of a seizure. One hand was clamped over her mouth, and her shoulders shuddered as she coughed. A fine red spray emerged from between her fingers and dripped to the floor.

Caldina shrieked at the sight of the blood, but her nanny didn't seem to register her presence. The little girl looked wildly around, catching sight of Feshiri and Delia sprawled on their own mats. She hurried over to their sides to see if they were hurt as well. She didn't make the connection between the blood and an illness; people only bled when they were cut, didn't they?

Neither child moved when she touched them, but their skin burned against hers. Caldina bit anxiously at her lower lip and wiped some of the sweat from Delia's forehead with her scarf. They were hot and dry, and she knew that that meant a fever at least. Maybe if she put a cold cloth over their foreheads, the way her father had done for her when she'd caught fever, they'd be alright.

A faint whimper drifted to her ears from the far corner. Caldina turned and noticed Siratan sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring blankly at his sick family.

"Atan?" She called to him, getting to her feet again and going to stand over him. "Are you alright? Are you sick too?" She reached out and touched his shoulder, but his skin was only normally warm.

With a sudden wail, the toddler flung himself forward and threw his arms around her waist, sobbing into her stomach.

"Th-they won't wake up, Dina! They won't!" He sobbed, obviously panicky. Caldina went to her knees and hugged him tightly, just as frightened by the strange turn of events. She knew she needed to be calm though, for the both of them. She stroked the boy's sandy hair and murmured softly into his ear, the way her mother always did in her dreams.

"It'll be alright Atan." She soothed him. "We'll go see my Da, 'tay? He'll know what's goin' on." She pulled Siratan to his feet and dried his tears, attempting a watery smile to calm him down. The little boy nodded, trusting even as she did in the magical power of adults to make everything right again. His mother coughed and shuddered harder, no longer capable of holding a hand to her mouth. Instead, the blood ran in a thick stream from the corner of her lips to a growing puddle on the floor. Caldina swallowed hard and pulled Siratan from the room before he could see. She felt suddenly sick to her stomach, and her nose burned the way it always did before she cried.

"Dina? We goin'?" Siratan tugged urgently at her hand. Feeling very grown up and in charge, the older girl nodded and pulled him towards the front door of the house, pausing only to grab a ragged cloak from a peg on the wall to throw around the boy's skinny shoulders.

The two children hustled down the street, fighting their way past the morning traffic. Strangely enough, the streets held only a mere shadow of their usual activity. Something was keeping people at home today, and it couldn't be the weather. Winter in Chizeta never got much worse than a little freezing rain, or maybe some hail and slush.

"Hows come I'm not sick, Dina?" Siratan asked after they had walked in silence for ten minutes or so.

"Prob'ly 'cuz you're not Chizetan." She replied absently.

"I am _so!_" The little boy protested. "Mama tells me so _all_ de time!" 

Though she had only just turned five a month prior, Caldina had heard the whisperings of people who came to the Olhedrin home to have their laundry done. _Everybody_ knew that Siratan's father hadn't been a Chizetan, or even Mrs. Olhedrin's husband. He'd been a foreigner from Autozam who had been visiting Chizeta, and come looking for something original to take back home as a souvenier. He probably hadn't meant to leave anything behind, most people sniggered. Caldina didn't understand what that meant, or why it was such an awful thing for Siratin to not have a father. She didn't have a mother, and people didn't look at her with disgust the way they did him. Most often, she got the 'poor baby' expressions. 

"Well...you're not _all_ Chizetan." She amended as an afterthought, noticing how a scowl was drawing Atan's brows down over his nose. The child's face cleared up immediately as he forgave her slip.

"You think it's sumthin' only 'Zetan's get?" He pushed on. Siratan had entered his 'why' stage a while back, and had yet to outgrow it.

"I dunno." Caldina replied honestly. "Could be. We'll hafta wait an' see."

They arrived at the clock shop close to an hour after Caldina had left for the Olhedrin home. She paused at the door, wondering if her father would be angry with her for interfering in his day's business. After all, he sent her away to keep her out from underfoot during the day. She frowned and gripped the door knob resolutely. No, Da wouldn't be mad. This was somehow very important, like the kind of stuff adults dealt with. She knew she was out of her league. 

Without further ado, she opened the door and entered the empty shop. It seemed the lack of traffic on the streets meant no customers today. The bells over the door tinkled, and Caldina couldn't help but smile at the sound. She liked those bells. Her father had told her they'd been cut off of a dress that had used to belong to the aunt she'd been named for. Her mother, Jezedra, had kept them as a keepsake after her sister's death. Caldina always felt a little happier hearing them jingle, like her aunt was giggling in heaven at some joke only angels knew.

Feshahd rounded the corner from the workshop, and frowned absently down at his daughter and her small friend.

"Dina, what are you doing here? There's work to be done."

"Da, I'm sorry." She ducked her head in apology, and pushed Siratan further into the warmth of the shop. "But sumthin's wrong with Mrs. Olhedrin, and 'Shiri and Delia too!"

"'Dey're sicked." Siratan piped up.

The frown deepened, but now it was one of concern. Feshahd stepped out from behind the counter and bent down to get to the children's level. "Sick?" He inquired.

Caldina swallowed hard and paled under her normally dusky skin. "They were all hot and sweaty, like I was when I had 'dat fever, 'member?" She fidgeted and bit at her lip. "An' Miz. Olhedrin...she was coughin' up blood Daddy. I saw." Siratan nodded emphatically, his lower lip trembling as he bravely fought back tears.

Feshahd's stomach sank. He knew of the plague; everyone did. But did anyone truly expect to come in close contact with it? He knew he'd only considered the possibility in passing. If Caldina had been in such close contact with infected individuals...

A cold sweat broke out over the clockmaker's body. There was still no known cure, but his daughter couldn't have known the risk. And Siratan seemed to be perfectly healthy despite his own exposure. Perhaps they'd been lucky.

But perhaps not.

"Daddy?" Caldina tugged on his sleeve, worried by his silence. "Should you call a doctor, maybe?"

"I'm afraid there isn't anything I can do, love." Feshahd said quietly, hugging both children to him. "There is a very serious sickness spreading through the city. No one knows how to make it better. Some people live through it, and some don't."

"...What about my mum?!" Siratan demanded. "And my brother and sister! They won't get better?!" His blue eyes were wide in utter disbelief. At three years old, he wasn't quite capable of understanding the concept of death.

Feshahd eyed the child dubiously. He didn't want someone who had been living with afflicted individuals so close, but his good nature demanded that he not turn the boy back out onto the street. His mother was probably very near death by this point, and his brother and sister might be only slightly better off. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do." He said, standing and releasing both children. "I'll call a doctor. They're always looking for people they can examine for a cure." He didn't say that the physicians would probably only take Feshiri and Delia. It was too late in the game to examine Mrs. Olhedrin. Feshahd smiled reassuringly, reaching for a coat and pocketing his keys. "Dina, there's some lunch on the stove. Make sure you both get something to eat, and if I don't come back until late, get to bed before darkness falls, alright? I'll lock up behind myself."

"Yes Daddy." Caldina replied, assured that everything would he alright now. She took Siratan's hand and lead him towards the living quarters. "You'll be here t'tuck me in?"

"Of course." Feshahd jiggled the door, to make sure it would lock when he closed it. Odds were good that there would be little business today, so he wasn't concerned about flipping the sign in the window from 'Open' to 'Closed'.

Caldina heard the door close with a very final sounding 'thud'. A shiver worked its way up her spine, though she couldn't have said why she had a sudden sense of foreboding. Matter of fact, she probably couldn't even have defined the _word_ 'foreboding'. She dismissed the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and pushed a chair over to the stove to allow her reach to the food atop it. Maybe something to eat would settle her a little bit.

~

The winter sun was setting over the cityscape, staining the gray slush a muddy crimson color over the slums and poorer quarters. Caldina stood on her tiptoes and peered out the window, but there was no sign of her father anywhere. She sighed and slumped back down into the chair she'd been standing on, pushing her unruly, fluffy bangs from her eyes. This really wasn't very fair. She was worried now. What if something had happened to him, or to Delia or Feshiri? Then what?

Someone knocked on the front door of the shop. Siratan jerked awake from where he'd been napping in Caldina's bed. By the time he managed to get himself untangled from the blankets, his friend was already out into the store, reaching for the doorknob. She remembered at the last moment to peek through the window first, to make sure it wasn't some stranger.

The person she saw wasn't who she'd been expecting. He was short and stout, with dark skin and even darker hair and eyes. His crimson tunic and deep azure sash marked him as one of the most skilled physicians, though Caldina couldn't have known that. But she did recognize the turban wrapped around his skull as a mark of status. Only those who lived in the most luxurious quarters of the city were permitted such a badge.

Timidly, she stood up on her tiptoes and unlocked the doors. The bells chimed, but failed to bring any reassurance. The bulky man looked down at the wisp of a girl half-hiding herself behind the door, and smiled warmly. He doffed his turban and bowed shortly to her. Caldina blinked in surprise, not knowing what she had done to warrant such recognition. Siratan peeked under her arm, eyes going wide.

"Is this the residence of Feshahd the Clockmaker?" He asked politely. "And if so, are you his daughter, Caldina?"

Pink locks bobbed as the girl nodded an affirmative. She edged out from behind the door, clasping one of Siratan's hands as much to reassure herself as to calm him. 

"Can I help you, sah?" She asked, licking her lips anxiously.

The man's dark brown eyes were full of some emotion she couldn't quite place. Pity? Sympathy? Sadness? And why? 

"Little Lady, I was sent by your father to bring you to him at the Healer's Hall." He replaced the turban over his hair and held out a large hand for her to take. "He asked that you be brought away from this place immediately."

"Daddy told me nevah to go _anywhere_ wit' strangers." Caldina replied stubbornly, keeping her hands together behind her back.

The man tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How could I persuade you...? Ah! The entire reason your father came to me, was to submit two young children, and an older woman into my care."

"My mama!" Siratan piped up hopefully from behind Caldina. The doctor looked over her shoulder and nodded. 

"Yes, your mama." Again, his eyes went sad. "Does this convince you?"

Caldina thought about it for a moment. It was getting late, and father had promised to be home...but what if, for some reason, he couldn't leave Mrs. Olhedrin? Would he have sent a strange man for her? She mulled it over, and finally nodded.

"Atan, go'n get your coat, tay?" The little boy scampered off into the house, and came back with both their cloaks. Caldina slipped hers on, trying her hardest to act mature and adult around this stranger. The doctor nodded approvingly and took each of the children by the hand. Now that he was clear of the door, they could see past his bulk, and noticed the brightly woven rug lying in the middle of the street. Wordlessly, Siratan and Caldina were led towards it. Mystified, both children obediently sat where they were told. Siratan looked in confusion to his older friend, who shrugged her own puzzlement. Once they were situated, the doctor took a seat behind them, and set his hands palm down onto the weave of the carpet.

"Rise!" He commanded imperiously, and the rug rose steadily into the air. Caldina gasped and leaned over the side to see if there was something beneath pushing them upwards. All she saw was empty air and slush, though she waved a hand around beneath it. The doctor chuckled and pulled her back onto the center of the contrivance.

Caldina had heard of the flying carpets, of course, but she'd never thought she herself would ride on one. They were horribly expensive; no one in her neighborhood had ever even touched one, though a few could claim to have seen the wealthy people zooming overhead on their own vehicles.

"Woooooow!" Siratan breathed in wonder as they levitated above the buildings, and zipped off through the chill air towards some unknown goal. He huddled closer to Caldina for warmth; both were now very grateful of their cloaks, as it was colder in the thin upper atmosphere.

"You c'n see the Palace from he-ah!" Caldina exclaimed in joyous surprise, flinging one hand out to indicate the structure. It floated weightlessly above the city, all soaring golden towers and glowing windows with jewel bright windowpanes. Arcs and buttresses reared up in a marvel of architecture. Mosaics were inlaid with colored bricks into the construction so seamlessly that it was impossible to distinguish between stones even close up. The children gawked, floored by the awesome castle they had never before been able to see.

"And there," The doctor said, pointing towards a building of gleaming marble, "Is the Healer's Hall." The carpet zoomed in under a large arched gateway, flying now only a few feet off the ground. There was a tension on the air, so thick they could nearly feel it brushing against their skin. Caldina shivered, suddenly frightened. This might be a place of healing and recovery, but there was death here, on a very large scale. She rubbed her hands across her arms, and felt goosebumps even beneath the fabric of her tunic.

The rug drew to a halt and lowered back down to the ground. Struck by the overhanging feeling of gloom surrounding the place, even Siratan was silent as the three of them stood and headed towards one of the many doors that would lead inside the Hall.

"Dina, I'm scared!" Atan hissed, tugging at her sleeve. "Sumthin's _wrong_ here...sumthin' _bad!_" Caldina could only agree, and squeezed his hand without replying.

They were lead through twisting passages crammed with bustling people. Some of them wore colors similar to their escort's. These were undoubtedly the doctors. Others dressed in more muted hues were likely the nurses and orderlies, or trainee healers that had been yanked from their classes to help deal with the current crisis. They drew to a halt outside a door that looked identical to any they had seen thus far.

"In here." The stout man said quietly, pushing the door open for the children to enter. It was dark beyond the portal, shadowy and somehow frightening. Caldina thought she could hear the raspy sound of breathing, but she wasn't sure. She looked up at the doctor, who smiled sadly and nodded. Gathering her courage together, she stepped through the door, pausing to allow her eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Dina, love?" A familiar voice came from a corner. Caldina brightened immediately, and scrambled towards it, her spirits lifting.

"Daddy!" She smiled, making out the outline of a bed. A shadowed hand lifted and tugged on a small chain, and golden light flooded through the tiny room. Already seating herself on the bedside, the pink haired girl turned to beam at her father.

And hardly recognized him.

He'd only been gone for perhaps half a day, but Feshahd looked so _different!_ His skin seemed clammy, and shrunken back against his face like a man deprived of sleep. A reddish rash marked the skin of his forearms, and seemed to climb up beneath his sleeves. Caldina stared into the warm brown eyes, the only feature unchanged.

"Daddy?" She asked timorously, reaching out a small hand to touch his cheek. Feshahd drew away from her fingers, smiling apologetically. 

"I wouldn't, love." He said softly. "You might fall sick as well."

__

SICK?! Was this the mysterious illness he'd spoken of earlier? The one that some people never recovered from?! But he'd been fine that morning.

"The doctors tell me I'm not contagious enough to infect someone by breathing on them, just yet. But touching could be dangerous." He went on, noting the stricken look on his daughter's face. "It seems I caught this from someone."

"...Me?" Caldina asked quietly.

"I don't think so." Feshahd reassured her. "There are so many people in our neighborhood that are ill. I doubt I contracted this from you, lovely."

"But you won't be here long." Caldina said with a child's assurance. "You'll be back in the shop soon, won't you?" Her eyes begged for a positive answer, but it wasn't one he could give.

"We'll know in a day or so." Feshahd wanted desperately to hug his daughter, his heart lurching in his chest as her lower lip began to tremble, and those sky blue eyes glimmered with tears. 

"Wh-what 'bout Miz 'Hedrin?" She swallowed hard and swiped her hand across her eyes. "An' Shiri an' Delia?!"

The silence went on for an awkward moment. Caldina's hands knotted up in the bedsheets as her father averted his eyes from her face. Her stomach sank rapidly, and her throat closed up on itself as she realized what he wasn't telling her. 

"They're not gonna get better." It wasn't a question.

"No." 

"An' you might not?" She fought desperately to choke out the question around the ball in her throat.

"I don't know."

"You're going to go away like Mama did." Caldina accused him, suddenly angry, though at what she didn't know. She stood up on the bed, her hands on her hips and flames in her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't notice or care. Her voice rose into an angry wail. "_You're going to go away and leave me all alone!_" She threw her arms around his neck, uncaring what the doctors might have to say about it, and sobbed brokenly into his shoulder. She was more afraid than she could ever remember being, and the lump in her throat was making it difficult to breathe. 

Feshahd clutched his precious daughter to him, afraid it might be the last time he was ever able to do so. He smoothed her wild rose hair and rocked her gently the way he had when she'd been just an infant, during those long, lonely nights after Jezedra's death. He had promised Caldina they would always be a family, but it didn't seem to be a promise he was going to be able to keep. It wasn't dying that frightened him, it was what would become of his child.

A sudden coughing fit ripped through his body, and Caldina fell back against the blanket in surprise. Her father shook and trembled as the spasm eased, and waved a hand to keep her away. The door to the room opened, and the doctor rushed in. His hands were glowing an intense blue too bright for human eyes to register, though Caldina had no trouble seeing it. She watched as he placed his hands on her father's chest and the glow dissipated throughout his body. The coughing fit wound to a halt, and he breathed deeply of the antiseptic laden air.

"Dina," Feshahd rasped, his voice how a hoarse parody of its normal tenor. "Go on now, Siratan will need you to comfort him." His daughter nodded shakily, her wide blue eyes fixed on him and full of fear. He patted her hand reassuringly, noting the doctor's disapproving look. "Know that I love you, dearest. I do."

Caldina nodded, and slid off the bed, her child's mind not able to grasp the finality in the declaration. She went to the door, and drew it closed behind her, pausing to blow her father a kiss before she slid it shut.

Feshahd looked up at the doctor, a friend of his from school. The man had risen from the same humble beginnings as he had, and had never forgotten his rules.

"Will you grant me one last favor?" The clockmaker asked.

"Anything, old friend." The stout healer replied, dusting his hands off on his tunic.

"My daughter has a mage talent." Feshahd said bluntly, smiling as shock imprinted itself on the doctor's face. "When I am gone, please make sure she is brought to the attention of whatever Master might be willing to teach. I always meant to, but somehow, I never got around to it. None of us ever see our own end coming....it's the best I can do for her now."

The dark eyed man nodded, and drew the covers up around Feshahd's thin shoulders. "Rest assured, I will do so."

The tall, thin man's eyes fell shut, and his breathing deepened as sleep stole him away.

For eternity.

~

AN: *wails* I'm sorry I'm sorry!!! I never meant to get this depressing! *sighs* Oh who am I kidding? It's only going to get worse. Just wait 'til you see what I have in store for Dina and Atan! Duahahahaha!


	4. China Doll

Steps of the Dance

Chapter 4

By

Lily of Trust

Caldina sat in the creeping shadows of her father's room and stared unseeingly at a point on the opposite wall. An orderly had been through earlier, scrubbing all traces of the plague from the floors and walls, preparing the room for its next ill occupant. The bedclothes had been changed, removing even the lingering warmth and scent of Feshahd from the sheets.

She was huddled at the head of the bed, her back to the wall and her knees pulled up to her chest. She hugged them to herself, rocking slightly in the dim room. The faint, rhythmic creaking such actions produced from the bedsprings was eerily loud in the dead quiet. There were no more tears to cry; her eyes were red and sore, and felt gritty when she blinked. Her chest ached from the prolonged sobbing, tightening painfully if she even dared to think of her father.

Memories sprang forward unbidden. Little things, like the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled; how he'd gesture expansively when talking, his hands doing half of the oration.

A great deal of her memories involved those hands. Scratches and scrapes being soothed, tears wiped gently away. A chiding finger shaken during an admonishment. Warm hands pulling the covers over her shoulders after a disturbing dream, or a childish fear of monsters under the bed. But foremost were images of long fingers working tirelessly, with endless patience, at the gears of the clockwork creations.

Caldina's throat tightened to the point of choking her in her own grief. She made several abortive attempts to swallow and found that she was making sobbing, hiccuping noises again. Her eyes burned with another hot rush of saline.

Perhaps she'd been wrong about having nothing more to cry.

But she hadn't even gotten to see the body, to say the final good-bye. All plague victims were returned to ash, to prevent the spreading of the epidemic. The crematoriums in the city were probably running day and night just to keep up with the demand. 

Just as the next wave was threatening to crash down and drown her in a salt water deluge, the door to the tiny room cracked open. The warmth of the ray of light from the hallway outside mocked the open hopelessness of the room. It was really nothing more than a sham glimmer, a broken promise of happy endings.

Siratan entered, shutting the door behind him as though recognizing the promise as a lie. Accustomed as Caldina's eyes were to the wan light, she had no trouble picking out the swollen and puffy eyes, the reddened nose, or the twin tracks of smudged tears. She felt no need to ask how _his_ family was.

Silently, the little boy crossed the room and climbed up beside her. He buried his face against her side, his tiny fists balling up into the fabric of her tunic as he gave into his grief once more. Caldina hugged him as close as she could manage, desperate for human contact that understood and shared the knife of loss twisting deep inside. She tried to hum something, anything really, to relieve some of Siratan's anguish. Something to lift his spirits and sooth the raw, grating feeling just a little. But nothing emerged from her constricted throat. Not so much as a whimper.

~

The Doctor stepped back from the door. Through the small square of tinted glass set into the wood, he had a distorted view of the events within. But even he, who had seen the affects of death and grief so many times during the course of his career, could no longer bear to watch the two children attempt to comfort one another. He feared that his own fragile self control would shatter, and the horrendous weight of so many lives lost to the plague would come crashing down around him. His heart cracked and wept as the sound of strangled sobbing emerged from beyond the closed door. 

Fortunately, or perhaps not, he was shaken from his sympathy by the arrival of woman in nurse's garb. She tugged at his sleeve to gain his attention, not at all surprised by the sorrowful expression upon his face.

"Doctor...there's a man to see you about a relative brought here yesterday." She informed him in the soft, quiet voice that everyone on the staff used these days. He nodded and followed as she turned in a soft swishing of skirts. They passed other doctors and nurses, all of whom seemed pale and drawn. The constant influx of patient after patient wore away at their reserves. Everyone was running on dregs of energy, or just plain empty. There was simply no time to rest and recharge. Several doctors had already collapsed from the sheer strain of seeing more patients in a month's time than they normally would in an entire year. Some of those unfortunates had contracted the disease themselves, thanks to their weakened state. 

They eventually broke out into a large reception area, that used to hold anxious relatives back before the entire hospital had become a quarantine zone. The doctor gulped as he recognized a tall, muscular figure, whose relationship to Feshahd was unmistakable. Having attended lessons with the clockmaker, he had naturally met the man's older brother. 

Ashul turned and smiled coldly at the stout little medic before him. "Doctor," Somehow, he managed to transform a nod of respect into a gesture of insolence. "I received notification this morning that my brother passed away this past night, a victim of that disease."

The physician growled inwardly at the utterly dispassionate tone the man used. His hands curled unconsciously into fists.

"Yes, that's true," He nodded back. "It's our duty to inform the next-of-kin."

"I suppose his body was disposed of in the manner befitting plague victims?" Ashul's brown eyes swept the room with a scornful gaze. The doctor's growl became audible.

"Now see here! The man was your brother! Shouldn't you have _some_ compassion for-"

"I'm here to collect my niece," The taller man went on, as though he had never been interrupted in the first place. There was a note of some actual emotion in his voice, which the doctor took as a good sign. Perhaps there had been some outstanding argument between the two brothers, which would explain for the coldness with which Ashul spoke of Feshahd. At least it seemed he cared for the girl. He nodded slowly and turned back the way he had come.

"Very well. If you'll follow me," The two men struck out into the hospital. The exchange that passed between them along the way could hardly have been called a conversation.

"Do you know why she did not fall ill?" Ashul asked, the question setting his escort's teeth back on edge. Such a callous man!

"No," The doctor replied shortly. "It seems she is one of the few fortunate enough to be immune to the disease," He paused for a moment, as if considering something, before continuing. "Feshahd confided to me, in his last hours, that the girl displayed a sort of Mage talent. He never specified, but I suspect that her magical aptitude may be the source of her immunity."

"...Mage talent..." Ashul mused to himself, and the conversation, such as it was, died for the rest of the walk.

Eventually, they pulled up a door completely indistinguishable for the others. The Doctor set his hand on the knob and pushed it open, praying the children had cried themselves out.

Caldina looked up as the door creaked open. Her blue eyes acquired a golden sheen from the pale lamplight, transforming her gaze into something inhumanly direct. Siratan had fallen asleep, his head pillowed in the older girl's lap. 

For a brief moment, hope fluttered in her chest like a caged bird, leaping into her throat and shining through into her eyes. In the wan lighting, she became convinced that everything had been a mistake, and that the man in the doorway was her father, alive! She slipped away from Siratan, who came awake with a faint mumble, and jumped off the bed to run over to the two men. She came to a halt before Ashul and looked up at him, her face wreathed in a bright smile that lit up every feature. Her arms started to rise, as though pleading with him to pick her up, but she stopped midway through the gesture and dropped them back down to her sides. Blinking in confusion, Caldina tipped her head to one side and took a second look at the tall man.

Her face fairly crumpled in disappointment. She hugged herself tightly, twisting back and forth in place as though she was trying to keep from flying apart at the seams. This man wasn't her father. She was still alone. 

"Caldina?" The doctor went to his knees beside the girl, setting one thick-fingered hand upon her frail shoulder. "This man is your uncle, Ashul. He's come to take you to live with him. He's your family now."

Uncle? The girl dragged the back of her sleeve across her eyes and took a second look. 

Siratan came up behind her, peeking over her shoulder at the imposing figure. She heard him gulp and felt him cower down a little. She couldn't blame him. The man's stern face and cold eyes rang distant, discordant bells in her memory.

"Caldina?" The doctor shook her gently, concerned at her silence. The child looked up at him, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion.

"Do I have t'go with him?" She asked plaintively.

"I'm afraid so," The doctor replied. He could understand her obvious reluctance; Ashul didn't seem to be overflowing with sympathy or affection towards her.

"What about Atan?" Caldina reached back and took the smaller boy's hand. "Where's he gonna go?"

"I...don't know," Came the awkward answer. "He has no known relatives. So many children have been left homeless recently, the orphanages are filled to overflowing."

"I'm not leavin' him here!" Caldina wailed defiantly, clutching him to her side. Siratan, not quite comprehending the situation, but realizing that something was amiss, clung to her desperately. 

"Enough of this fuss," Ashul spoke for the first time in the childrens' presence. His booming voice effectively silenced his niece's protests. "The boy may come with me. I can always use another set of hands around my estate." He turned back to Caldina, who gawked at him in surprise. "I have already sent someone to your father's shop to gather your things. Transportation awaits us outside. Come now." With that, he turned and strode back down the hall. The two children stared after him for a moment before scurrying to keep up.

The doctor stood and watched them go. He had a rather unpleasant feeling in the pit of his rather ample stomach, but the matter had been taken out of his hands. All he could do now was pray for their happiness.

~

The Chizetan capitol had been constructed in such a way that the light of the rising sun first fell upon the Palace, then the homes of the Nobility, and so on down the social scale. The rich and powerful often boasted large manors, complete with exquisitely landscaped lawns and gardens. Such concessions to vanity existed in even small, crowded worlds like Chizeta, where the space for such yards could have easily held several tenement buildings.

The morning sunlight swept over the tiled roof of one such estate. Large trees, specially imported from distant Fahren, spread their limbs over most of the lawn. A few branches scraped up against the windows of the manor, awaiting pruning. Small, brightly colored birds flitted between the leaves, calling out greetings to their kin.

The thin wooden shutters of one such room banged open, startling the chattering birds into flight. A middle aged, brown-skinned woman, her hands worn with much work and toil, secured the curtains to ensure a decent breeze reached the room. She sighed and paused for a moment to enjoy the sunlight before turning back to face the interior of the chamber. Another woman, perhaps ten years younger, fussed busily over a teenaged girl perched upon a stepstool. A bolt of cloth, perhaps six yards long and beautifully embroidered in gold along the length of the borders, was draped over the servant's left arm.

"I really don't understand why my ability to dress myself seems t'fly out the window every time company comes a callin'," The girl muttered, tugging at the _choli_ she wore. The snug-fitting black top bared her midriff and back, tying at the back of the neck and serving as support for her bust. 

"Honestly mistress, must we go through this _every_ time your uncle entertains?" The woman at the window chided, stepping forward to assist the other servant in wrapping the _sari_ about their young charge. With a deft, expert touch, she gathered most of the fabric at the girl's waist, winding it into a skirt. She then draped the _pallu_, or end-piece, over her shoulder and stepped back to admire her work. The _sari_ itself was long enough to indicate an elevated social status. The cloth had been dyed a deep crimson at one end, and faded through every shade of red to a pale rose at the other end. 

The girl turned to examine her reflection in a standing mirror. She set her hands on her hips and tossed her long pink hair over one brown shoulder. Her image gazed back, blue eyes flashing angrily from a delicately pretty face.

"I don't like it," She complained.

"It suits you," The elder servant said calmly, attempting to head off a long-standing argument.

"It's gaudy," The teen scowled. "I'm _tired_ of bein' dressed up like a doll an' trotted out fer people t'coo over."

"Mistress..." The younger maid began, her hands rising in a placating gesture.

"Don't 'Mistress' me, Ahna," The girl fumbled with the professional wrapping, unwinding the _sari_ from about her body. She flung it across the room, where it landed upon a padded divan. She hopped down off the stool and snatched up a pair of _salwar_, long, full trousers slitted to the knees and bound at the ankle.

"Dina!" The door to the bedchamber burst open. A sandy haired boy, in his early-teens, judging by the gangly length of his limbs, screeched to a halt just inside the doorway. Unruly bangs flopped into his eyes, adding to the coltish impression he made. 

All three women looked up in surprise, the two servants pausing in the middle of gathering up discarded clothing, the girl with one leg through the trousers and the other out. 

"Honestly boy, how many times must you be told to knock before entering a room?!" rebuked Ahna. 

"Oh shush," The girl rolled her eyes and secured the _salwar_ about her waist with a sash of red silk. "No harm done. An' anyways, Siratan's allowed in." She turned back to the boy, her commanding tone vanishing, replaced by a much friendlier, casual one. "What's th'mattah, Atan?"

The boy grinned, shoving his hair out of his eyes as he replied. "I just heard who your uncle's hosting tonight."

"You will refer to him as 'Lord Ashul," The older maid corrected, "And for Heaven's sake, Siratan, stop beating 'round the bush and get to the point!" 

Siratan grinned nervously and bobbed his head to acknowledge his error. "It seems His Majesty caught word of our Lord's recent business ventures in Fahren. I guess it brought a fortune in trade contracts or something...at any rate, the Royal Family will be gracing our household with their presence this evening."

A combined gasp went up from the two servant women. They chattered anxiously between themselves, suddenly becoming aware of a million little things in need of repair or tidying up by supper. Siratan rolled his eyes and focused back on the girl.

"And your dance instructor told me to get you. You're late for lessons, Caldina."

She groaned in response, quickly pulling on a soft pair of slippers. "Figures, don't it? The one lesson I _enjoy_, I miss 'cuza some stupid dress fitting." She waved a hand towards the intricate _sari_ on the bed and hurried towards the door.

"So you're not excited about the King and his family being here tonight?" Siratan asked as he shut the door behind them.

Caldina shrugged and headed down the hall. Her childhood friend fell into step at her side, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. 

"Not really," she said, "They're not gonna notice _me_. My job is t'sit, look pretty, and try not t'spill my food. That's 'bout it."

"But the Princesses are about our age, aren't they?" Siratan persisted. "Maybe you'll be allowed to talk to them," He sighed wistfully "I'll bet they're beautiful, too."

Caldina snorted wryly. "They're _princesses_. Of _course_ they're pretty. That's one'a the qualifications for nobility." She shook her head and scuffed at the ground with her foot. "Nope, I'll be told to keep my mouth shut, and try t'look well-bred. This is about my _uncle_, not me."

In the eleven years since her father's death, her uncle's business ventures had spread to each of the other three worlds. He traded spices and exotic fabrics in Fahren, worked as a neutral arbitrator in the negotiations between Fahren and Autozam, and even held some small transactions in Cephiro. Having large amount of money invested in so many places meant he did a lot of traveling. Since the day he'd brought her home with him to this estate, Caldina had been turned over to a series of nurses, servants and governesses. She respected her Uncle, but she couldn't say she genuinely _liked_ the man. She didn't think there was anyone who did. He was feared, cursed, and looked up to in many circles, but not liked. 

Caldina had never had much contact with the man, which was just as well, really. He hadn't tried to take over as a father figure, which would have only earned him her resentment. They took meals together once or twice a month, and generally avoided each other as much as possible. The impression she got from the man was one of endless ambition. Ashul wanted nothing more than to be granted the status of nobility, but having been born into a merchant family cursed him to being nothing more than a rich businessman at best. One had to be born noble, or marry into an established bloodline. 

The dance studio was housed in a separate wing of the manor. The long chamber sported well-worn hardwood floors, several windows to let ample sunlight in, and a ceiling high enough to perform lifts and jumps. 

Her instructor, a tall, wiry man in his mid-thirties, stood beside one of the windows, gazing out at the manicured lawns. One hand rested upon the sill, tapping out a rhythm. Caldina paused just inside the door, pulling her hair into a high ponytail. She didn't think she'd made any noise, but he turned away from the window and smiled warmly at her.

"You're late," He said quietly, beckoning her over to the bar that ran along one wall. 

"I had a fitting," She explained, trotting over to begin her warm-up exercises. "My uncle's hosting a dinner party t'night, so I-"

"Excuses won't improve your skills, Caldina," He said sternly, "You're a talented dancer, one of the best I've come across, but you are not my only student. I have other appointments to keep." 

She flinched away from the disapproval in his hazel eyes, ducking her head as she set one leg atop the bar and leaned out over her knee. There weren't many adults who could get away with putting her in her place, but this man was one of them.

"M'sorry, Sir Tanvir. I won't be late next time," She promised.

"See to it," He nodded to Siratan, who had been standing close at hand the entire time. "We'll be running through the piece of choreography I introduced to you last week." The boy nodded and turned to a curious contraption sitting upon a bench. It was basically a box of thinly beaten black metal. Inside, countless wires and chips relayed impulses back and forth. When the correct button was pressed, music issued forth. Caldina didn't understand how it worked, but her uncle had purchased it on a recent business trip to Autozam, and brought it back for her use in her lessons. Siratan, who was perhaps partly of Autozam by blood, seemed to have an instinctive knack for working with the mechanized gadgets.

He fiddled with a knob for a moment, selecting a piece of music while Caldina stepped away from the bar and took her place near the center of the room. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she exhaled. The music emerged through a set of wire-mesh 'speakers', filling the studio as though it were played live. 

Caldina remained still for the first few bars, feeling the music vibrate through the floor. She'd been told it too had come from Autozam, another product of their machines. It started off as a simple rhythm, but a new element or sound was added every time the beat came full circle. The tempo increased, the complexity grew, and her body inevitably moved to follow.

This particular routine opened in a quick series of steps, short and staccato, much like the music. Her arms rose above her head, linked loosely at the wrists. The steps she took evolved into subtle twitches of her hips. The music added several new components to the initial beat, sending the dancer into a whirl. She dipped and spun, arms flung out around her body in a protective shell. Locks of hair clung to her cheeks and the nape of her neck, pasted there by perspiration. 

Her brow furrowed in concentration as her feet wove through an increasingly complex pattern. By now, she should have been feeling slightly winded at the least, but the rush of endorphins kept her riding high for the moment. There was something about the combination of music and movement that kindled a warmth in the pit of her stomach. A firey warmth spread through her limbs as she danced on, pushing her on to match the daredevil speed of the song. It was almost tangible, a tingling feeling just beneath her skin. It made her feel as though she could move mountains, control even the social web she found herself caught within. She only touched it when she danced

The music reached a crescendo, cresting a breaking in a wave of sound that completely washed away her mundane concerns. This was why she looked forward to every lesson, for the chance to lose herself completely in the physical exertion.

The song ended abruptly, something she had always found puzzling about it. The original rhythm came back around once more, along with the added elements. It felt as though another component should have been added to the melody, but instead it just stopped. Too caught up in her dance, the sudden loss of music took her by surprise. She tripped over her own two feet and stumbled a few paces before falling to her knees. The adrenaline rush slowly faded from her system, leaving her panting for air.

"I should think you'd know to anticipate that by now," Her instructor said, helping her back to her feet.

Caldina grinned and scraped the sweaty strands of her hair off the back of her neck. "Are y'sure that's the whole song?" She asked as she twisted the pink mass up into a bun.

"There's nothing wrong with the system," Siratan replied, tapping a forefinger against the metal shell of the machine. 

"Never mind that," Tanvir said, snapping his fingers to regain their attention. "That was good for a warm up. Now onto the rest of the lesson."

The next hour was anticlimactic as far as Caldina was concerned. She couldn't seem to touch that core of power when going through mapped out steps. Only during compelling songs, ones that left her room to improvise, could she tap into it. 

She left the studio sweaty and tired, Siratan in tow. He most likely had other places to be, but the staff knew better than to aggravate their employer's niece. If she commanded his company, then so be it.

"I need'ta wash and change before mah next lesson," She sighed, plucking at the damp fabric of her _choli_. "

"You should have time, if you hurry," Siratan said, stifling a yawn. Watching Caldina go through the paces of her dance routines always made him tired. The steadily climbing heat outside the manor walls did little to help his drowsiness. 

"Lazy," Caldina poked him the ribs, "S'a good thing _you_ don't hafta sit through etiquette courses. You wouldn't last a minute."

"Which is why _you're_ the noble, and _I'm_ the serving boy," Siratan said dryly, 

"Ah ah, 'wealthy merchant', not 'noble'," She sighed and took a quick detour towards the bathhouse. "And I'd switch places in a heartbeat if'n it meant gettin' outta lectures on manners. I can just _guess_ how bad it'll be, what with tonight's guests."

"Have fun," Her friend grinned, waving as he continued down the hall. Ahna would see to getting her a clean set of clothing, as he was strictly forbidden from setting foot inside the women's bathhouse. 

"I'm sure I will," Caldina muttered as she turned a corner, heartily wishing this day to a close, now that the one bright part of it had come and gone.

* * *

Yes, you may all die of shock now. I have finished chapter 4! *insert trumpet fanfare* Actually, the first three pages have been sitting on my computer for...oh....six months now...

Major credit for getting me up off my ass goes to The One Who Calls Out Moose, who e-mailed me with a death threat ^^;; It seems to have worked. 

I'd like to make a few notes here, regarding the story and some of the plot. You can ignore it if you'd like:

To begin with, I originally intended to have Ashul be the stereotypical 'evil uncle', but then I realized how effin' cliche that was and kicked myself in the head (Yes, I am that flexible). So I changed my mind. He's not going to be some major villain, as I had planned, but instead he's more interested in gaining money and earning the title of nobility than in his niece's wellbeing. He's a ruthless, ambitious man who will stop at nothing to attain his goals. That's what makes him so dangerous to, well, everybody. Also, for some reason I have yet to disclose (but there is a reason, I promise) he's keeping the knowledge of Caldina's magic skills to himself. She knows nothing of them, and most likely has never used them either. Hmm...what sinister purpose could he have?

Secondly, this story follows the _manga_ storyline, so when I finally get back around to the present time some things will be different. For instance, in the manga there is no Debonair, Presea never died, and neither did Eagle. Etc etc etc. I just thought I'd point that out so I wasn't attacked by rabid fans of the anime who want to rip me to shreds for screwing up some detail.

And lastly, I got all the way to the dressing room scene when I realized something. 'GASP! Oh no! I have _no_ idea what you _call_ those clothes people in India wear!' The Chizetan form of dress seems to be based rather heavily off those of Indians. So I got online and did a search. Credit for my current knowledge of Indian articles of clothing goes to 

http://udel.edu/~orzada/india.htm 

So if you're curious about the wardrobe, check that out ^_^

Okay, that's enough from me. Ja ne!


End file.
